"Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie...." That childhood poem sprang to mind when I walked out to feed yesterday and was struck by a cacophony of chatter from all these birds. The ones sharing breakfast with the little girls are in addition to those on the wires. There were no blackbirds here the day before, and I don't know if they are moving in or moving through. As well as the poem, they always make me think of the song associated with Isadora Duncan, "Bye-bye, Blackbird."
It threatened rain all day, but it wasn't until I was driving down to Fiddletown to attend a farewell party for friends that the clouds let go, and me without a coat. Fiddletown is another small community, just over a couple of hills as the crow (or blackbird) flies, but it's a pretty circuitous route by road. My friends are exchanging mountains for the coast of Baja. They'll be missed.
Apropos of absolutely nothing, I have to mention the Minnesota Vikings-Dallas Cowboys football game of yesterday. While I was delighted that the Vikings won, the last play by the Cowboys was classic...high school football at its best and will go down in the annals of the game. I lost count of the number of times the ball was passed laterally, backwards and forwards...never say die!
1 comment:
Hmmm, I'll take fruit or pecans baked in my pies, thank you very much! I was going to make a smart-ass comment about you telling us how they taste in your pie...but I know you wouldn't be the cause of their demise...unless they went after your beloved critters - then watch out birdies...she's a mama grizzly to her big and little girls - and her 4-legged housemates! But she may croon you a bon voyage tune if you are just passing through.
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